


our reality

by TheBookDinosaur



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 04:21:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6500632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBookDinosaur/pseuds/TheBookDinosaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Voldemort is growing stronger. The Order is losing morale. Attacks on muggleborns are becoming all too frequent.</p>
<p>In front of the backdrop of the First Wizarding War, in the face of an uncertain future, Dorcas Meadowes learns what it is to grow up; to fight, to love, and to lose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

The Great Hall is quieter than usual when the Sorting ends, tiny first-years shepherded off to their respective tables, starring around uncertainly, and food appearing in front of us. Students aren’t lunging for the food like the starved beasts they normally seem to enjoy imitating, preferring instead to stare at each other and mutter unhappily. Izzy, next to me, leans her head on my shoulder and grasps at my elbow. Her fingers are cold, and her nails scratch, but I put up with it because I need something to ground me, and cheer me up after the rather dismal Sorting song this year.

I end up spooning mashed potato onto our plates, but neither of us are as enthused by the food as we should be, given its quality. Having exhausted all the topics that friends talk about on the train journey, and after the Sorting Hat’s rather dismal and foreboding song, both of us are content to sit together comfortably in silence.

“You should eat,” Izzy says, and judging from the movements of her body next to mine, I’d say that she’s trying to kick me. My feet are tucked neatly underneath the bench, so she’s missing, thankfully. “Dorcas, food. Eating.”

“I know,” I say. “So should you, though, you can’t talk.”

She makes a noncommittal humming noise and finally realises where my feet are. I kick her back and she retreats, dragging her feet onto the bench, her face screwed up. “Ow, fuck, go away.”

“I have good aim.”

“You failed the Quidditch tryouts.”

“My aim has _improved_ ,” I inform her after a brief pause, and she laughs at me through watering eyes because we both know that’s not true.

Students groan and attempt to grab some more of their favourite dishes before the food disappears, giving the Hall a small semblance of the life it usually has, but it doesn’t last long as everybody quietens down and settles back on their seats when Dumbledore stands up.

“Good evening, students,” he says to the Hall at large, spreading his arms. “To those of you who are new, welcome, and those of you who are not so new, welcome back. Before you are free to go up to your dormitories, there are a few start-of-term notices, which I will try to make as short as possible so that we can all seek the comfort of our beds. The Forbidden Forest is out of bounds, and Mr Filch has asked me to relay to you, for what he tells me is the fifty-second time, that magic in the corridors is not allowed, and there is a full list of prohibited items on Mr Filch’s door. I suggest that you take the time to study it, as it is constantly going through updates.”

“D’you think Filch actually keeps count of how many times he asks Dumbledore to give that message to us?” I ask idly. Izzy shrugs, and her shoulder digs into my arm.

“What else are you expecting him to do all day?” she asks, and I huff in laughter.

“And finally, this year out Head Boy and Head Girl are both from Gryffindor – please welcome James Potter and Lily Evans.” The two students in questions stand up, Lily blushing and James blowing kisses to his friend beside him. From where the Hufflepuff table is, we can hear the Slytherins muttering unhappily about a muggleborn Head Girl, and if I turn my head a little to the left I can see them all casting baleful glares at the Gryffindor table.

“Now that’s all done, you are all free to sleep and prepare for classes,” Dumbledore says, inching back towards his seat. “Off you go!”

All at once there’s a massive noise as everyone stands up and pushes their benches backwards, and the screeching of wood on stone fills my ears for a moment. Students start to file out of the Great Hall towards their dormitories, and I manage to get around the table in time to catch up with Izzy as she shepherds a flock of firsties in the vague direction of the door.

“’Scuse me,” a Ravenclaw third year says, twisting her hands together in a manner that looks kind of painful. “Do you know where Dorcas Meadowes is?”

“I have no idea who that even is,” Izzy says, trying to keep a straight face and mostly failing.

“She’s me,” I say, aiming for her arms and hitting her in the ribs.

“Professor Dumbledore wants to see you,” the third year says, preparing to vanish into the crowd even as she delivers her message.

“Now?” I ask. Izzy’s looking at me, and her eyes are clearly saying that I must have done something _big_ to get into this much trouble this soon. I try my best to relay that I don’t think I’m in trouble, but I don’t think I get the message across very effectively, because my eyebrows aren’t as expressive as hers.

“Now,” the third year confirms before sliding comfortably into a crowd of her housemates and leaving.

“I should probably...” I trail off, and gesture up the stairs towards Dumbledore’s office. Izzy steps closer to me, and as a unit the firsties who are following her all shuffle closer to me as well, clearly unwilling to let Izzy out of their sight in this noisy crowd.

“I expect you to tell me everything,” she says in her most intimidating tone, narrowing her eyes a little at me. The firsties she’s shepherding look rather terrified of her – to the extent that they shuffle backwards a little bit, and the unlucky few at the back of the crowd yelp as they start to get pulled along by the crowd – and I nod as I leg it towards the stairs, hardly bothering to notice her attempts at scaring me. Izzy’s bark has always been worse than her bite, but I’m used to both now after six years of ill-advised friendship.

It’s a fight to get through the crowd and towards the stairs, which are thronging with Gryffindors and Ravenclaws heading upwards, and I think I know what this meeting is about.

* * *

“Can I go in?” I ask the gargoyle politely as I reach it. It sniffs, and doesn’t bother to speak, and I rock back on my heels. “Okay,” I tell him, drawing out the vowels. “Has anyone else gone in?” It shakes its head. “The Headmaster’s expecting me,” I tell it, but this time the gargoyle doesn’t even bother to react. “Isn’t that position uncomfortable?” I ask, gesturing at its hunched back and awkwardly bent fingers, mostly for the sake of keeping this one-sided conversation alive, before thinking that maybe I should stop talking to a hunk of rock, animated or no. The gargoyle slants me a look and nods.

“Everybody expects gargoyles to be twisted and nasty,” he says, straightening up and rubbing his neck, and I want to ask whether that’s an actual pain reaction or just a habit he’s observed from someone else. “How was I doing?”

“You were doing a very good job of it,” I tell him as a group of boys round the corner noisily, and the gargoyle looks immensely flattered.

“Hello,” one of the boys says as he comes closer, and I recognise James Potter and his group of friends, with Lily Evans following them.

“Hello,” I reply, and try to suppress the feeling that this conversation got a hundred times more awkward. I’ve only said one word, for Merlin’s sake.

“The thirdie said that Dumbledore said to wait for seven people,” the tall, black-haired boy I recognise as Black next to Potter says, looking me up and down with a sharp, assessing gaze. “Are you two people?”

“Maybe I count as two people,” Lupin says. The other boys laugh at some sort of inside joke, and he grins at me. “I’m Remus Lupin, and this is Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew. You probably know James and Lily.” I bow my head awkwardly and wonder whether a nod is in fact an acceptable form of answer to that statement.

“Dorcas Meadowes,” I say. Thankfully, another girl comes running around the corner, saving me from having to make small talk with people who aren’t gargoyles.

“Hello!” she says, her voice containing an immediately noticeable Scottish lilt. “Sorry I’m late, Melanie didn’t catch up to me until I was halfway to our Common Room.” Remus goes through the whole introduction thing again, pointing at each person and saying their name. “I’m Marlene McKinnon, Ravenclaw,” she says once Remus is done. “Nice to know you.”

“Nice to know you too,” Sirius says carelessly as James goes up to the gargoyle.

“Bertie Botts’ Every-Flavoured Beans,” he says. The gargoyle moves aside for us, pushing at the walls to reveal a passageway of stairs, climbing up in a tight circle to what is presumably the Headmaster’s abode.

“Are you kidding?” Marlene asks, glaring at the gargoyle. “I was halfway up Ravenclaw Tower when the third year caught up to me! I had to climb all the way back down, and now you tell me I need to climb up more stairs?” the gargoyle doesn’t reply, and Lily leads the way up the stairs.

We’re forced to climb in single file, the stairs are so narrow; and at the top there’s a big wooden door with a knocker, and even though I’m seeing it through a small crowd of other people and there’s really nothing that remarkable about the door except maybe how shiny it is, it’s making a definite play for the most intimidating thing I’ve seen in my life. Lily knocks, and the sound startles me so much that I stumble on the last step of the stairway and crash into Marlene like the ridiculously graceful person I am.

“Sorry!” I exclaim, my hands fluttering in useless movements.

She pats my arm and rights me. “Happens to the best of us,” she says with a grin that seems to light up her face. I can feel a blush creep up my cheeks and mumble something under my breath that even I don’t understand.

Sirius looks as though he’s going to say something, but shuts his mouth as Professor Dumbledore’s voice comes from the other side of the door.

“Come in.” Lily seems to lose her nerve, and James reaches around her to open the door, only for Lily to flick his arm away and open the door herself.

Dumbledore’s office isn’t grand in the sweeping, epic way that the word ‘grand’ suggests, but it has something about it which makes you think of that adjective anyway. The walls and floor are practically gleaming, as shiny as the door was, and there are delicate-looking silver instruments on spindly-legged table, puffing out smoke and whirring their gears quietly, as though they’re talking to each other. Portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses line the room, their subjects striking up conversations or sleeping or pretending to.

“Sit down, make yourselves comfortable,” Dumbledore says, waving his wand and creating several chairs opposite his desk. We all sit down rather stiffly, despite the comfort of the bright purple chairs that have just been provided for us. “Aniseed balls?”

“Uh, no thanks,” James says, and we all murmur something of the sort. Dumbledore shrugs and helps himself.

“Now, I’m sure that you suspect why I’ve asked to meet you today,” he says seriously, looking at us above his glasses. The solemn effect is a little ruined by the sound of the aniseed ball clacking against his teeth. I nod at his statement anyway, though, and I’m not the only one doing so. “You have all, at one point or another, expressed an interest to join the Order of the Phoenix to me.”

I remember this vividly, without any effort – seeking him out after classes towards the end of last year, standing in front of his office for a good ten minutes before realising I didn’t know his password, preparing to leave when he came out and then stuttering over my words nervously, telling him about how I’d heard about his organisation and how I wanted to join. The memory still evokes the sick, roiling feeling in my stomach which was so much more than butterflies, and I’m still not sure that I understood, or understand, the sheer enormity of what I was doing.

“I will not be allowing you to join the Order –” all of us look up here, and I imagine we have similar outraged or surprised looks on our faces “– until you have graduated.” He waits for us to settle back down, like offended birds. “I am not going to lie; war is dangerous, and people die.” His blue eyes pin us all with a sharp, sad gaze, and I have no doubt that he know what he’s talking about. “Throughout the year you are free to reconsider your respective offers,” he continues, “and if at any point you wish to pull out you are free to do so, without penalty from me or, I hope, from each other.”

The room is silent for a while, except for the almost-soothing background noises that the machines are making.

“I still want to join,” one of the boys says – I don’t quite catch who – and then we’re all nodding in agreement, and Professor Dumbledore looks torn as he nods in reply.

“Very well,” he says. “Thank you. You’d best leave now if you want to catch an early night for tomorrow’s classes.” We stand up and leave the room in silence after that; there doesn’t seem to be anything else to say. When I look back before the door closes on us, Professor Dumbledore is looking down at his desk, using his hands to support his head in a gesture that speaks of worlds of tiredness.

Once we’re outside, Remus snorts. “What’s an early night again?” he asks the corridor at large.

“The opposite of a late night, Moony,” Sirius says, flinging an arm around his friend, who turns red but doesn’t attempt to dislodge Sirius.

“Sleep is for the weak,” Marlene agrees seriously, and smiles again.

“Absolutely,” James agrees. “See you guys around,” he says over his shoulder to Marlene and I. Lily repeats the sentiment, and then all the Gryffindors head up towards Gryffindor Tower.

“See you in lessons, I suppose,” Marlene says. I nod and shrug and wave her off, heading towards the comfort of my Common Room.

* * *

“So?” Izzy says straightaway as I walk into our dormitory. “What did Dumbledore want?” She’s too loud, though; Taylor yanks her curtains open with such a grumpy expression on her face that Izzy immediately holds her arms up. “I’ll be quieter, I swear.” Taylor yanks her curtains back into place so forcefully that the sound of a rip echoes through the dorms. “So, Taylor hasn’t become any more of a night person, then?” Izzy asks the dormitory in general. Fi over in the other corner shakes her head before going back to her book.

“Isabel, I swear to fucking God,” Taylor threatens from her bed. Izzy beckons me over to her bed and closes the curtains around us.

“So?” she asks me again. “What did Dumbledore want?”

“Uh, nothing much,” I say evasively, shifting uncomfortably, even though I _know_ this behaviour is only going to make her more curious. I hadn’t told Izzy that I wanted to join the Order; it had been such a secret for me, something I kept so tightly in my own skin that talking to her about it would make it, and the war, frighteningly real.

“Dorcas,” she says with as much venom in her tone as she can inject. I pat her arm. “So?”

“The Order,” I say quickly, like ripping off a band-aid, as though that will help me. “He and I discussed me joining the Order.” Izzy gapes at me. “I – approached him last year,” I sigh, because it’s all coming into the open anyway, “to let him know I was interested.”

“You did _what_?” Izzy nearly shrieks.

“ISABEL FORD,” Taylor yells from her bed, and Izzy casts a quick, distracted Silencing Charm around my bed after shouting an apology.

“What did you do that for?” Izzy hisses at me.

“Because what You-Know-Who is doing – it’s wrong, Izzy, it’s so wrong and nobody but Dumbledore and his group of fighters are doing anything about it and I wanted to help!”

“Dorcas,” Izzy says sort of uselessly, sitting there with her mouth open and her arms slack at her sides. “It’s a war out there.”

“I know.”

“Your parents are purebloods,” she says, and she has to notice the way that I wince at this mention, but she doesn’t push any harder.

“I know that, too,” I tell her, and try my best not to think about how hell-bent they’d seemed on passive-aggressively trying to get me to join Voldemort’s side over the summer.

“Why?” she asks instead. “Why would you risk so much?”

“Because –” I say, also kind of uselessly. “What they’re doing is _wrong_.”

“I _know_ that, but – you can’t – you can’t go out and just join the army! They’re not doing much except _dying_ –” she cuts herself off and turns a fiery shade of red, starting to trace patters on her plain duvet: flowers, hearts, letters. The almost-spoken thought hangs between the two of us, alien and completely out of place in the low-ceilinged, well-lit dormitory, the warm place I’d spent all the years of my schooling in. _You might die, too_. “Were you the only one joining?” Izzy asks.

“Not by far,” I say, and smile a little at the memory of them. “The Gryffindor boys, and Lily Evans, and Marlene McKinnon from Ravenclaw.”

“But – but – they have proper reasons, Dorcas! Evans is muggleborn, and McKinnon has a muggleborn dad, and I’ll bet that the Gryffindor boys have family in danger or are in danger themselves, and you – you’re pureblood, you’re _safe_ , why would you risk everything?”

“Because what they’re doing is _wrong_ , Izzy, they – ”

“Is that it?” Izzy demanded, looking close to tears.

“What?”

“Just because what they’re doing is wrong, you’ll fight them?”

“Well – yeah,” I say. “Yeah.” It’s not like I had any other reason.

There’s a long silence which stretches out between the two of us as we stare at each other, still seated on Izzy’s bed. She looks at me as though she’s discovered a new person.

“You’re the best of us,” she says in a small voice after our silence has passed awkward and ended up at uncomfortable. “You’re the best person out of all of us, and all of them, too.” I shake my head vehemently, alarmed at her words.

“I’m really not –”

“You don’t even have a _reason_ , Dorcas, just that what they’re doing is wrong and you’re going to risk literally everything for that –”

“It’s not just that,” I say to her earnestly, leaning forwards. “It’s because I _know_ myself, I know myself well enough to know that if I just sat at home and did nothing for the people who were being killed and tortured – if I let that happen, just because I wasn’t in danger – I couldn’t live with myself, I don’t think, I’d hate myself that much.” Izzy grips my hand tightly. “I honestly don’t think I could live with myself. Izzy,” I say after a pause, “they started a Column for the Dead in the _Daily Prophet_.” That, I remember, had been the push, last year, to seek out Dumbledore.

Izzy manages to summon a smile for me, but it’s a weak affair and we both know it.

“I guess I should go to sleep,” she says reluctantly. She doesn’t make any movement to get off my bed, though, and she gives me another, slightly stronger smile.

There’s no need for any words after that; we brush our teeth and change into pyjamas together. I can’t help but to snicker when I see her beloved blue pyjama set covered in broomsticks. She’s had them since last year and I’ve hardly seen her in anything else apart from school and Quidditch robes, thanks to the house elves’ almost frighteningly quick laundry and a few handy stretching spells.

“Do you know, there was a massive crash in my pyjamas over the summer,” she says, indicating her right sleeve. I frown and lean closer, and sure enough there are three broken looking broomsticks tangled together and drifting around rather dismally.

“How did that happen?” I ask as we climb into my bed again. This catches Fi’s attention, who looks over and notices the two of us.

“Fault in the sewing, I expect,” Izzy says.

“Wait for me!” Fi says, vacating her bed and jumping into mine. “Sleepover!” It’s a bit of a squeeze, but we can all fit in one bed if we snuggle close to one another, which is really the whole point.


	2. Chapter 2

Safety is such an odd, nebulous idea, so difficult to pin down and define. During the whole of the summer holidays, I’d been looking over my shoulder, wondering which place in Muggle London was going to be next on the Death Eaters’ list of Places To Destroy. Even the Muggles, who shouldn’t have had any idea about what was going on, looked sombre, hurrying around with their heads down as if none of them wanted to attract attention.

I’d forgotten, over the course of my summer, how safe Hogwarts made me feel. Safe; it sounds so simple, just four letters, just one syllable, just one word. It is so immensely difficult for me to feel properly, blessedly safe, nowadays.

Certainly there’s the physical aspect of the castle; it’s an imposing structure, even more so against the gentle Scottish landscape that it’s built on, made of solid stone and veiled with spells and charms to keep intruders out.

I think that’s not quite it, though: it’s just that nothing really bad has happened in Hogwarts. There’s that group of Slytherins who are clear supporters of Voldemort, but they haven’t dared to do much in the school, with the professors to watch over us. Voldemort himself hasn’t even attempted to breach the school. You would think that a school filled with young, impressionable minds would be one of the first targets of someone with nasty intents towards Britain as a whole, but there’s been nothing, and that above everything else makes me feel as though I can finally stop looking over my shoulder.

“Dorcas,” Izzy says from next to me as Professor McGonagall dismisses the class and there’s that usual swell of noise which accompanies the end of a lesson.

“Yeah?” Neither of us have mentioned the Order or my involvement in it since Fi woke the two of us up (at 7am, shockingly enough) by rolling out of bed and pulling both of us with her, eliciting a lot of swearing and frantic pulling at the bedsheets until we’d finally gotten free.

“Look on your desk, silly.” I obey her and my eyes fall on a prettily folded paper crane. I look up enquiringly at Izzy, who shrugs. “I don’t know, it just appeared there.” I sweep it into my pocket and we stand to file out of the classroom.

“What do we have next?” I ask Izzy.

“A free,” Izzy says. “Common Room or library?”

“You want to start on that essay McGonagall set us?”

“Library it is,” Izzy agrees, and we turn to walk that way. We have the kitchens, so it’s not without its benefits, but our Common Room is obscenely far away from all of our classrooms, on the opposite side of the castle – the closest set of classrooms is probably the Potions dungeons, which are on the other side of the castle but on the same level, as opposed to on the other side of the castle and several floors up.

I unfold the paper crane carefully as we walk; it’s completely blank except for a name on it, which I recognise. _Marlene_. “What’s this?” I ask Izzy, shoving the note her way. She’s the Charms whiz; if there’s a spell on the paper, she’s the one who’s going to find it.

“Well,” Izzy says, picking it up and inspecting it carefully, “it looks like a piece of paper.” I give her the most sarcastic look I can summon and snatch the paper away from her.

“Thanks, genius,” I say. “Any other pearls of wisdom?”

“I think,” Izzy says, deliberately pausing to try and build up the nonexistent suspense, “it’s from Marlene McKinnon.”

“You don’t say?”

“Ah, but I just did,” Izzy says. I refold the paper into a much messier square and pocket it as we enter the library. “What would McKinnon want with you, anyway?” Izzy asks as we sit down and aggressively ignore the essay that we’re meant to be doing. Madam Pince rounds a corner and looks at the two of us suspiciously, feather duster in hand and hair in a tight bun.

“I don’t know. Something to do with the Order, maybe? She’s one of the others joining,” I remind Izzy, who shakes her head and makes shushing noises as she looks around the library.

“Don’t talk about that, not here!” she hisses across the table. “There are spies everywhere.”

“Not in _Hogwarts_ , surely,” I say, looking around.

“You only think that because you’ve not had anything bad happen to you here,” Izzy says, and her words ring uncomfortably true, but I’m in no way prepared to start looking over my shoulder again.

“Has anybody else?” I ask as we find a table and settle down, probably more defensive than I need to be. “Have there been incidents in Hogwarts?”

“Well, no,” Izzy admits, holding out her hand for the piece of parchment, which I give to her. “But you can never be too safe, am I right?”

“Except in Hogwarts,” I say, watching as she attempts a series of complex-looking charms on the paper. “Where did you spend the holidays?”

“We went to Greece,” Izzy says offhandedly, because her family is loaded. “It’s amazing how little You-Know-Who affects that area, you know. He’s almost completely in England and Scotland and possibly Wales and Ireland as well. In Greece – I don’t think anybody’s even heard of him, unless they pay attention to tiny articles on page eight of the local newspaper.”

“You’re joking,” I say, and she shakes her head.

“Nope. The article was squished in next to this amazing advert for salami, that’s mostly why I even remember it.”

“That must be nice,” I say wistfully. “Not to even know about – well, any of it.”

“Ignorance is bliss,” Izzy agrees. “Oh, I got it!”

“What?”

“The paper. Your McKinnon shrank the text,” Izzy says, sliding the paper over the table to me. I’m briefly distracted by the turn of words.

“She’s not my McKinnon,” I correct. The thought makes me a little fidgety. Izzy only waves her hand at me.

“Same difference. Are you going to read the note or not?” I look down at the parchment, where loopy cursive writing seems to have appeared.

_meet me in the library?  
4.30, tomorrow_

“What does she want with me at 4.30 in here tomorrow?” I ask Izzy, passing the note back before realising that it’s mine and therefore I should probably keep it.

“I don’t know. Order stuff?”

“You said not to say that kind of thing in the library!” I laugh. She tries to reach across the table to smack me but her arms are too short.

“You convinced me otherwise. But anyway,” she says, giving up her half-hearted attempts to hit me and looking at her watch, “we should probably get started on that essay McGonagall gave us. It’s due in three days, right?”

I groan. “Don’t remind me. That’s just plain mean,” I complain, shoving the note in my pocket and shoving any thoughts of it into the back of my mind. “Before wouldn’t she have given us a week?”

“Don’t question the McGonagall,” Izzy says darkly, ignoring my snorting at the ridiculous face she’s pulling, “just do it.”

* * *

“Hello!” Marlene says happily, looking up as Peter sits down at the table she’s sitting at, with the rest of the Gryffindors following. “Did you get the charm right?”

“It took me almost three hours, McKinnon, this meeting had better be worth it,” Lily says from the chair across me.

“It’s Marlene to you lovely people,” Marlene says. “And it wasn’t that hard, I don’t think. A simple engorgio would have done the job if you’re too lazy to just make the text larger.” Lily’s sending a glare fit to kill Marlene’s way, and I have to repress the urge to laugh.

“Why did you want us here?” Peter asks. He looks very bored, or very sleepy, or a deadly combination of the two.

“A study date!” Marlene says, beaming around the table. Peter does not look impressed at this development of events. “No, for serious,” Marlene says when there is a general lack of reaction around the table, leaning back, “I want to get to know you guys better.”

Lily goes for the simpler, “Why?”

Marlene doesn’t appear in the slightest bit fazed. “Well, you’re going to be my colleagues,” she says with another smile. “If we’re going to work together and possibly depend on each other in life-or-death, then I want to know who I’m depending on.” Thoughts of a time that far ahead – after graduation! – hadn’t occurred to me, but she’s right, of course. It would be smart to get to know these people before fighting with them, and the others look to be agreeing with her. “I also want to know who can cook, because anyone who can cook is someone I want to flat with when we leave this place.”

“Smart, McKinnon,” Sirius says faux-grudgingly.

“It’s Marlene,” Marlene says.

“Why couldn’t you just write, you know, a normal note?” James asks. “Your way of writing is – safer, for sure, but it doesn’t really need to be that safe, does it? We’re not a spy organisation or anything –”

“You wish,” Peter mutters, and Remus rolls his eyes.

“– so why the complicated charms?”

Marlene shrugs as though this thought had legitimately never occurred to her. “Writing normally is overrated. It’d boring. Plus, what if someone decided to hijack our meeting, huh?” Nobody seems to have anything to say to this. “Mostly because I wanted to test out the spell,” Marlene admits eventually, shrugging. “Sorry?”

* * *

Somehow, all seven of us find our way up to the Gryffindor Common Room. It’s definitely the boys’ fault; I’m certain that they knew exactly what they were doing when they started their loud litany of complaints about homework, and how they just couldn’t be stuffed, and really didn’t want to be here, because when Madam Pince kicks us all out they’re all wearing proud smirks.

“Alright, smartasses,” Marlene had huffed, and we’d collectively made our way into the Gryffindor Common Room because she’s hell-bent on _getting acquainted with everyone_ , which is apparently a phrase which also means _not letting anyone out of her sight_.

The Fat Lady who guards the Gryffindor Common Room had not been pleased when she found out that Marlene and I were from other houses, and had grumpily informed them that they had “one girl missing,” which had, of course, started a lot of sputtering and assurances that their intentions towards Marlene and Lily and I were perfectly appropriate in nature.

Their Common Room is red, red everywhere – I mean, at least in my common room we had some stuff that wasn’t house colours. The floor’s brown, so are the doors, and we have a massive window that’s fake, but looks out on the sky. Here? That isn’t an option, apparently. Everything is a bright fire-truck red, from the doors to the ceiling to the carpet which covers the floor. I suppose it has to be an acquired taste, because this assault of red is very overwhelming at first, enough that I have to stop and blink a couple of times before continuing into the room.

“You okay?” Lily asks, and I nodded.

“Yeah, sorry,” I say, “it’s just – very red.” I snap my mouth shut straightaway and can feel the heat rise in my cheeks, because Lily just _happens_ to be a Gryffindor, but she just laughs and pats my arm.

“Oh, no, don’t look like that, you’re right – it took me years to get used to it,” she says, and I huff out a laugh.

“Your Common Room’s cosy,” Marlene says, looking around interestedly for a brief moment before toeing off her shoes and dumping her feet on Peter’s lap, who promptly turns her around so that her back’s braced against his shoulder and her feet are on Sirius.

“Oi – oi! Wormtail!” Sirius says indignantly, trying to push her off and failing. 

“Sorry, mate,” Peter says, looking perfectly unapologetic. “I prefer this arrangement.”

“My feet don’t stink,” Marlene says, wiggling her socks in Sirius’ face. He sputters and bats at her feet frantically until she drops them back onto her lap. “I have lovely feet.”

“I can’t appreciate that, you’re wearing _socks_ ,” Sirius tells her. “Socks are the invention of the devil.”

“What?”

“You wear them, and they jam your toes together, and it’s like –” Sirius waves his arms around sort of hopelessly, black hair falling across his face, before mumbling something that sounds like, “Unnecessary articles of clothes to wash.”

“Alright,” Marlene says peaceably, “you can appreciate my lovely ankles instead.”

“When you guys are done _flirting_ ,” Remus says pointedly, and Marlene laughs.

“Jealous?”

“Of course he is,” Sirius says, “he’s not the one flirting with me.” Remus’ face turns a light pink but he manages to retain his composure.

“When you say get to know each other –” Lily interrupts, and seems uncertain as to what to say next.

“I mean hang around together in various places until we can call each other friends,” Marlene supplies helpfully, and I hear a couple of snorts.

“Works for me,” Sirius shrugs.

“Shouldn’t we, I don’t know, ask each other questions or something? That would help in getting to know one another better,” Lily says.

“Woah, proactive,” Marlene says, sounding impressed.

“What were you going to do, just annoy us until we learned to tolerate you?” Sirius asks, and she grins unapologetically at him.

“Got it in one.”

“Boring questions out of the way first,” James says quickly, “Favourite colour.” He’s found himself a nice spot leaning against Lily’s shoulder and stretching his legs until they’re also perched on Sirius’ lap, and he’s trying his best not to look too much at Lily but failing. I think she knows it, too; she keeps smiling a little bit to herself every time he looks away from her guiltily. It’s very sweet.

There are a couple of groans from the sofa to express their displeasure at being forced to answer such simple questions. “Black,” says Sirius.

“You’re kidding,” Marlene says.

“Like my _soul_ ,” he replies earnestly, to general amusement.

“You know, let’s answer proper questions,” he says. “Ten worst fears.”

“Isn’t that getting a little personal?” Remus says, trying his best to punch Sirius subtly.

He mostly succeeds at this venture, but Sirius ruins it by yelling “Ow!” and clutching his arm.

“Drama queen,” Remus says, amused.

“I think it might be a little personal,” Peter says.

“Fine,” Sirius sulks. “You come up with an idea, genius.”

“Tell us about yourself?” Peter suggests. “Tell us about yourself in one sentence? Tell us about yourself with your nose?”

“Your _nose_ ,” Lily says, laughing. 

“Teenage runaway,” Sirius says. “And my nose is a delight.”

“Special snowflake,” Marlene says, reaching down to poke me.

“Ow! Um,” I start, trying my best to think of something to describe me and failing, “Very confused.”

“That works,” Marlene laughs.

“So this is a tell us about yourself in two words?” Peter asks, his nose scrunched up in confusion. “Um – quite small?”

“A goddess,” Lily says, and pretends not to hear when James agrees with her under his breath.

“Tall, dark and handsome,” James says.

“That’s four words,” Remus points out. “That’s double the limit you’re allowed.”

“Fine,” he says, trying to pretend to pout and then dropping it as soon as he finds another two words he likes. “Quidditch legend.”

“Rule breaker,” Remus says, and then adds, “but good at hiding it.”

“What about a tell us what your name means?” Sirius suggests. “I’m the brightest star in the sky.”

“The dog star,” Remus points out, and snickers.

“ _Brightest star in the sky_ ,” Sirius says insistently.

“The name ‘Marlene’ doesn’t mean anything,” Marlene says rather sadly. “My parents just thought it sounded pretty. And my dad likes Marlene Dietrich.”

“Remus Lupin may as well mean Wolfy Mcwolferson,” Remus says.

“James – I have no idea what James means,” James says.

“A lily’s a flower,” Lily says helpfully. “A couple of guys have tried to give me lilies before, which is so cliché that it cancels out the charming. I don’t even like lilies that much. I like sunflowers.” James is so obviously filing this information away for later use that even I want to roll my eyes a little.

“What does Peter mean? Does Peter even have a meaning?” Peter demands.

“You’ll have to look it up,” Remus says. “I’m sure the library has a name book, or something of the sort.”

“I think it’s biblical,” Marlene says thoughtfully. 

“What’s the time?”

“Does Dorcas mean ‘what’s the time’?” Sirius asks, leaning over Marlene’s legs so that he can see me.

“Dorcas means gazelle, I think,” I tell him finally, because we’re not going to get anywhere fast if I don’t. “But I want to know the time.”

He beams. “Of course, darling! James, what’s the time?”

“There’s a clock above the fireplace,” James says, gesturing upwards without bothering to look up himself. It’s bright scarlet, of course, and blends in with the wall so well that I barely even noticed it when we came in. “It’s six o’clock,” he says, looking down at his watch.

“It’s six o’clock,” Sirius tells me.

“I should probably go –” I say, starting to get up.

“Go do what?”

“Homework?”

“Didn’t you do your homework in the library?”

“I didn’t finish...?” I trail off.

“Is our Common Room that nasty?” Peter asks at the same time Sirius says, “Yes you have, you liar,” even though I actually haven’t finished the homework.

“No –”

“So stay!” Sirius says, and reaches over to pull me on top of Marlene, who yelps and sits upright.

“My legs!”

“Sorry!” I say hurriedly as she spins around and budges up against Peter to make room for me to sit. The sofa’s only meant for three people, and with four of us crammed into it Marlene’s arm is pressed tightly against mine.

“Tell us about your Common Room, then,” Sirius says.

“You’ve been in there already,” I say. He looks a little alarmed.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I heard McGonagall and Sprout telling you very firmly that your common room was your own and you shouldn’t be sneaking into the Hufflepuff one back in fifth year,” I say. Sirius’ face clears.

“Oh, yes. Well, describe it for the benefit of Lily and Marlene!”

“It’s cosy and there are plants everywhere,” I say. “And it’s yellow. With a low ceiling.” There’s a pause as I try to come up with something new. “Um, you get soaked in vinegar if you don’t tap the right combination on the barrels?”

“Hmm, yes,” James says, sounding sleepy. To be fair, he’s the closest to the fire and thus the warmest. “Learnt that the hard way.”

“And –” I can’t think of anything else to say, so I go for the classic deflection technique. “It’s Marlene’s turn to describe her Common Room!” The attention shifts to Marlene, and I relax a little.

“Stairs,” Marlene says, “loads and loads of stairs. It’s why we’re so fit even though most of us aren’t bothered about sports.”

“I’ll second that,” Peter announces, and Marlene punches his arm. “Ow!”

“Your Quidditch team is pretty good, though,” James points out, and there’s an almost tangible sensation of eye-rolling as James returns to his favourite subject.

“That’s because the few who are bothered about sports are really really bothered,” Marlene says. “What else? It’s like the opposite of here. Really high ceilings, really spacious room, panoramic floor-to-ceiling windows which can be opened really fast if the Charms group in the back make something explode or turn the whole room really smoky – that’s happened before. Loads of blue, and there’s a bookshelf we all use, we have to leave a book behind when we graduate so it’s always growing. It takes up almost a whole wall now, we don’t know where we’re going to put this year’s bunch of books.”

“It doesn’t sound very homey,” Peter says dubiously.

“I’ll take you guys up tomorrow,” Marlene promises.

“I really should go,” I say, frowning at the clock. I’d only gotten half of an essay done in the library, and I think the teachers want to make us forget that summer holidays are even a thing because they’re piling on the work as fast as they can. “I –” Thankfully I’m saved from having to argue my case to Sirius because Marlene stands up and offers her arm to me in an exaggerated, old-fashioned gesture.

“See you guys around,” she says as I gingerly take her arm, and they all wave us off before Lily gets up and mentions something about sorting out prefect timetables, and James hurriedly gets up and says that he’ll help.

“Those two are nauseating,” Marlene says as we duck out of the Common Room, and I nod in agreement. “But in a good way, if there’s a good way to be nauseating.”


	3. Chapter 3

“What did McKinnon want?” Izzy asks from the comfort of the sofa. She’s in her broomstick pyjamas again, and judging by the book tossed carelessly onto the floor next to her bed, she’d given up on her essay before I came in.

“To steal my soul,” I say easily, pushing her legs aside to sit down. It doesn’t make a difference in the end, though, because she just plops her feet on my lap when I’m settled down anyway, and it reminds me of Marlene.

“I hope you said no.”

“I always say no to those sorts of offers. You know how it is.”

“So she’s a dementor in a very good disguise?”

“Absolutely. French braid and baggy cardigans and shorts,” I say seriously. “Nobody else could pull it off.”

“We need to alert the student population. They might be in serious danger.”

“She actually finished her essays in the library,” I say dismally. “So quick. I’m not even halfway through yet.”

“Ravenclaws,” Izzy says as though this is an acceptable explanation. “Remember when I went out with Henry in fifth year?”

“Yeah.”

“He was so great at bullshitting. Half his essays were all waffle, and he got top marks. He should’ve been a Slytherin.”

“Ravenclaws,” I echo rather sadly. “But yeah, Marlene wanted to get to know me and the Gryffindor people better.”

“Why?” As though this talk of bullshitting had given her energy, Izzy picked up her Potions textbook from the floor and started to underline various lines of it. “D’you think I could get away with listing all of Golpalott’s Laws when we’re only working on the first three?”

“Because if we all go ahead with the plan to join the You-Know-What, then she says she wants to get to know us before we become colleagues and work together.”

Izzy nods. “Sensible, actually. So what do you think of Golpalott?”

“I bet he was a grumpy old fart,” I say. “But you probably could get away listing all of his laws.”

“What did you do today?” Izzy asks, grabbing her parchment and starting to write.

“Nothing much, honestly,” I think back to what we did, and I can’t say that any of us save perhaps Marlene were very productive. “Talked?”

“Hmm, talk about an out of control wild child,” Izzy says dryly. Fi and Taylor come to join the two of us on the sofa to pick Izzy’s brain about the Charms homework, as is their twice-weekly ritual.

* * *

Marlene keeps her promise and takes us all up to Ravenclaw Tower. She even jogs the second half of the stairs (just to show off, I swear – although in her defence, it was because James had said that he refused to believe that she did this on a normal basis) and then waits for us at the top, and I see what she means when she says that all the Ravenclaws are fit because of this.

“I can feel myself getting thinner,” Sirius gasps dramatically. “Save me, Wormtail!” He attempts to fall into Peter’s arms, but Peter moves out of the way quickly and Sirius catches himself in time to not meet a grisly death via stairs. “What kind of friend are you?”

“The best kind,” Peter says. “I think we’re one circle away from the top.”

“I agree with Peter,” Marlene shouts down, the noise echoing around and around the circle of the staircase. “Hurry up.” James and Sirius both mumble what sounds like a string of curse words up at her. When we finally reach the top with burning legs, Marlene is leaning against the opposite wall casually, looking for all the world as though she’d been waiting forever.

“How do you manage that?” James asks, panting, his hands on his knees. Sirius is rolling around on the floor.

“With skill,” Marlene says indifferently before turning to knock on the heavy wooden door.

“What comes down and never goes up?” the door asks. Marlene leans on the door again and looks at us, her eyes sparkling.

“Any answers, guys?”

“Your face,” Sirius says from the floor.

“My ego after climbing those stairs,” James says, and to everybody’s shock, the door opens up for him.

“Well done,” the door says, and after a moment of shock we all troop into the Common Room quickly before the door changes its mind.

“You can literally say anything that even vaguely makes sense,” Marlene tells us as she pushes the heavy wooden door shut after us. “Or sometimes if the knocker’s in a good mood, you can say absolute rubbish and it’ll still open for you. The hard questions are for people the knocker doesn’t want coming in, and for showing off.” She cuts herself off with a wince as an eager massacre of trilling and shrieking starts from the opposite side of the room.

“What –?” Lily starts to ask, but the source of the enthusiastic noise quickly makes itself apparent; a small group of red-faced first- and second-years with a small army of woodwind instruments are huddled in the corner with a harried-looking seventh year holding a violin, who stops the noise after only six bars.

“Connor, I beg of you, you can blow more gently,” the seventh-year implores. “I assure you, that shrieking noise comes of blowing into the flute too hard. And Dylan, you need to switch your fingers faster. Sarah, oboes require a great deal of air from the diaphragm, not your nose. Alright? Are we ready? Let’s start from the top of the page –” and the shrieking starts again.

“Is it always like this?” Lily asks, looking rather enchanted at the prospect.

Marlene was right when she described this place as spacious; high ceilings and huge windows make the place seem even bigger than it actually is, and probably made for good acoustics as well, although you honestly wouldn’t know it from the racket that’s coming from the corner of the room. There are armchairs and desks scattered around the room where, presumably, people can study as the wish. Peter was right when he said it didn’t sound homey as well, though; to me this place feels more like a library or public park than a place I can relax and feel at home in.

“Pretty much,” Marlene says as the avalanche of noise stops once again and the violin-playing seventh-year begs her charges to not manhandle their instruments as they are. “Most of the Seventh Years set up classes or tutoring times because it looks impressive on their job applications, especially if their skill is hard or rare.”

Looking around, I can see that the window seats are the most popular, as they’re all occupied. There are some students lounging around on the carpet as well, who wave at us amiably as we pass by.

“Marlene,” one of them calls. “You have some Gryffindors and a Hufflepuff following you.”

“Do I really?” Marlene asks, and the girl, who clearly did not become a Ravenclaw for her powers to notice sarcasm, humourlessly confirms her statement.

Marlene settles into an armchair, and we follow her lead. “Is that the bookshelf you were talking about?” Lily asks to the noise of music being butchered, pointing at the shelves which line the wall the door is placed on. Marlene nods, and Lily goes to investigate.

“We actually have a couple of handwritten manuscripts and first editions of old books because the tradition to leave a book behind’s been in place so long,” Marlene remarks to nobody in particular. James and Sirius, unable to sit in a new place for long, get up to do some exploring of the Common Room – this is the only Common Room they haven’t been in, according to James, because the eagle was a bitch and refused to open for them. Remus joins Lily at the bookshelf, so it’s Marlene, Peter and I in a circle of overstuffed armchairs.

Marlene McKinnon has a certain reputation for being aloof – one of those terribly charismatic people who are well-liked by everybody but don’t have any close friends and who just seem to glide through life without any trouble at all, completely satisfied with her own company. Frankly, she’s intimidating, so it takes most of my courage to open my mouth and ask her a question, since Peter seems to be comfortable just napping.

“Who are you dumping to be here?” I ask her, almost seriously, and then ask myself why on earth I chose this question to ask. Marlene frowns.

“Hm?”

“Well, Izzy’s still in the library or the Common Rome or something so that I can stay here and hang around with you guys, and Lily’s dorm-mates are probably missing her. And Peter’s lucky enough to have all of his friends in this group anyway,” I explain, and Marlene’s face clears.

“Are you asking me about the state of my social life?” I start to blush, but she waves her hand, as though she’s shooing my embarrassment away. “My brother, I suppose,” she says. “But he’s a Puff like you, and two years below me taking his OWLs, so we don’t see each other as often as I’d like.”

Eventually, the others come back and strike up a casual conversation as the group of midgets start to play something which sounds like it should be a lot softer and sweeter than its current rendition. We make an odd group, to be sure; James, Sirius, Remus and Peter all know each other like the backs of their respective hands, and even if they’re not giving each other obvious attention they’re keeping tabs on each other. Marlene fits in with them perfectly – charming and friendly, laughing along with Sirius or poking fun at Remus and Peter. James definitely has something going on with Lily, too; he keeps sneaking little glances at her and then pretending that he isn’t.

“Do you play an instrument?” Remus asks Marlene, who shrugs.

“I know some piano and some flute,” she says. “My mum taught me. I was thinking of trying out the violin for a while, but Darrell got to explaining it to me and it sounded very complicated so I chickened out. You?”

“My tutor taught me piano as well,” Sirius buts in after Remus shakes his head to say he doesn’t play an instrument. “I hated it, of course.”

“You should pick up flute,” Marlene says. “Once you have a grip on the theory it’s pretty easy to have a go at pretty much anything.”

“We should go,” James says suddenly, noticing the time and standing up. At our inquisitive looks, he locks his hands behind his back. “Lily and Remus and I have a top secret mission.”

“He means that we have a Prefect meeting in five minutes and we should be going,” Remus says, standing up as well. James pouts at the revelation of his top secret mission.

“Uh, Marlene?” Lily asks.

“Yeah?” Marlene asks, looking up from her armchair where she’s watching the small music class in the corner dissipate, little firsties and second-years heading off to their dormitories with large smiles on their faces.

“Is there any way to get down the stairs? Without climbing down. Can we borrow a broomstick or something?”

“Well, about that,” Marlene says, “I’m afraid you have to walk. There are spells on the stairs that stop you from using a broomstick. It’s meant to be for our exercise, since apparently our noble founder had no faith that a group of intellectuals would ever go and exercise of their own free will.”

The three of them groan.

“I take everything I ever said about Salazar back,” James says, “Rowena was definitely the worst.”

“A seventh year tried to jump down last year, with a Muggle thing which slows the fall at the last moment,” Marlene offers.

“Oh, a parachute,” Lily says. “What happened to him?”

“He wouldn’t drop. He had to take the stairs,” Marlene says, and Lily rolls her eyes as she heads towards the door, Remus and James both following her.

“We need to find a way around the spells on that tower,” Sirius frowns as the door closes.

“You think we haven’t tried?” Marlene asks. “Believe me, we’ve tried. The closest I’ve come is sliding down on a tray,” she says, “but it turns out that it’s difficult to steer a tray on circular stairs.”

“That doesn’t sound like it was the smartest plan, no,” Peter agrees.

“It’s your turn tomorrow,” Marlene says carelessly to me, changing the subject when the silence stretches out a beat too long. She twists around in her seat so that her head is on the armrest and her legs are dangling over the edge, a movement that seems effortless when she does it. “To show us your Common Room.”

“And what makes you think I will? Some houses like their privacy,” I tell her. Her face falls into the lines of a mocking pout.

“Oh, how did you know I was planning to invade all your privacy?” she asks, and I snort. “Your Common Room sounds similar to theirs,” she gestures at Sirius and Peter. “Cosy.”

“Homey,” I agree. “Warm.” Marlene shrugs.

“You probably don’t think much of this then, if you like small, cramped spaces,” she teases.

“I don’t hate it,” I say carefully, “but it feels more like a public space to me. Not like a home,” I explain when Marlene shoots me a quizzical look. Peter nods in agreement.

“Well, it’s the Common Room. The dormitories are smaller than this, but since this is shared by all the members of the house technically it is a public space. Is your Common Room really that small?”

“I don’t think so,” I say carefully, bringing to mind the warm space I spent so much time in, “it’s just that it seems cosier than this room.”

“This room’s like a library,” Sirius agrees. “Speaking of, why don’t you give these books to the library?”

“They’re _ours_ ,” Marlene says at once, indignant. “They belonged to old Ravenclaws and now they’re ours.”

“But if you gave them to the library –” Sirius tries, but he cuts himself off after Marlene glares at him angrily enough to kill. “Fine, fine. Keep your books, you bibliophile.”

“My, what a fancy word,” Marlene says in a mock-impressed tone, and Peter snorts as Sirius laughs.

* * *

“Your turn today,” Marlene says as she slides into the chair next to me in Charms. Professor Flitwick squeaks a greeting, and most of the class manage to mumble some sort of coherent reply before Flitwick starts to rattle on about body-controlling charms.

“My turn to what?” I ask as Izzy does a very bad job of taking a subtle look at Marlene.

“Show us your Common Room, silly,” Marlene says, noticing Izzy’s very obvious peeks at her. “Hey,” she offers, with a small wave. “I’m Marlene.”

“Isabel, but call me Izzy,” Izzy says. Marlene nods and grins engagingly, and it feels like two major spheres of my life, previously kept apart, are now colliding, and I don’t know when the other seventh-year Order hopefuls became such a big part of my life.

The rest of the class goes by without much hassle, although I do catch Izzy gaping at Marlene’s note-taking speed – somehow her hand is moving faster than mine and she’s not even watching her quill, keeping her eyes on the talking Professor Flitwick instead. “A nice seventh year in my third year,” she says when Izzy asks her how she writes so fast and so carelessly. “He took it upon himself to teach us proper penmanship. He was the most pretentious bloke you’re ever likely to meet, but his notes were a thing of beauty.” Izzy laughs at this.

“Sensible,” she says, sounding impressed.

“Do you teach anything?” I ask, remembering what she’d said yesterday about sixth- and seventh-years teaching younger Ravenclaws various things for the sake of their resumes.

“I help Darrell with the music sometimes, but I’m not that frantic to start a class. I already know what I’m going to do after I graduate, and I’m as good as accepted already.” If I didn’t know that she’s deliberately not mentioning the Order, I’d believe her story completely.

“She knows about the Order,” I tell Marlene, who flashes a smile at me and leans forward again.

“Caught in the act. Yeah, I’m joining the Order and Dumbledore’s practically accepted the seven of us already, so there’s no real need for me to do anything for the sake of a job application.” Izzy looks impressed.

“You realise you’re still writing what Flitwick’s saying?”

* * *

Lily is looking rather impressed at how well the Hufflepuff Common Room fits the criteria of being cosy, and James is saying something about how _obviously_ Helga Hufflepuff copied Godric Gryffindor’s Common Room design.

“They’re not that similar,” Marlene says, scrutinising the room with hands on her hips and narrowed eyes. “They’re both round and give off a cosy aura. That’s about it. The Gryffindor ceiling is higher.”

“Alright, Detective,” Sirius says, patting the seat next to him in a clear invitation. Marlene takes it and dumps her feet on his lap again, to Sirius’ disgust. “I have to say I like the way you guys have a fake sun coming in through your window though, clever way of getting light.”

“More effective than a fireplace,” James agrees. “And prettier than just lightbulbs.”

“Ravenclaw Tower’s pretty smart as well, though,” Remus says thoughtfully, sitting down on Marlene’s other side. “Glass all the way around the room so that no matter what time of day it is they’re getting light.”

“Except after the sun sets,” Sirius says. “Hey, what happens at night?” he asks, turning to me. “Do you just have sun all day long?”

“No, the sun in the window sets as well, so we only get that light during the day, but artificial lights come in after dark so we can see,” I say, turning to look at the window, where there’s a very realistic but ultimately fake view of green grass and red poppies and a bright blue sky, when I know for a fact that the grass outside is turning yellow. “Hey – I’ve been meaning to ask you guys –”

“What?” Remus asks idly when I cut myself off to look around.

“How’d you find out about the Order?” I ask curiously. The Common Room’s empty, which is odd for this time of day, but I suppose that most people like to spend time in the sun before it gets too cold.

“My parents were giving Dumbledore hell for it,” Sirius says promptly. “Before I left. At first they didn’t mention who was running it, but when they mentioned Dumble I thought it that if he ran it, and my parents hated it, I’d probably like it.”

“I found out through my dad,” James says. “My mum isn’t too keen on letting me join but they both support me and Sirius.”

“I found out from Sirius,” Remus volunteers. “And so did Petey, I think?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Peter confirms. “And we all joined partly because Sirius was being really rebellious and we needed to keep tabs on him and partly because Dumbledore’s right in what he’s doing.”

“And partly because we want to fight him,” James says, and his smile isn’t very friendly.

“I found out through the _Prophet_ ,” Marlene offers. “There was this article about a ‘mysterious group of people’,” she says, making air quotes, “who were fighting against You-Know-Who and his followers, and I asked my parents if they knew anything about it and they both said it’s probably Dumbledore. So then I went and asked Dumbledore if that was right, he said yeah, I asked if I could join and he said yeah again.”

“What do your parents think of you joining?” James asks.

“Dad isn’t too keen on it but he’s a Muggleborn and that’s going to make him a target anyway, so I may as well do something useful while we’re being targeted – does that make sense?” Marlene asks.

“That was fine,” Peter assures her.

“I overheard other people discussing it,” Lily says. “The Order and Dumbledore were mentioned together often enough that I went and asked him what it was about, and when he told me I asked to join. My parents don’t know,” she says quietly. “They don’t know anything, about the war or You-Know-Who or _anything_. But I’m Muggleborn, and like Marlene said, that makes me a target anyway and Dumbledore’s doing the right thing so I may as well, right?”

“What about you, Dorcas?” Remus asks.

“Same as Sirius,” I admit. “My parents were trash-talking ‘this Order rebellion business’ – that’s what they called it, an Order rebellion business, as though You-Know-Who was in the right, so I asked Dumbledore if he was behind it and he said yes, and then I was going to leave but then I turned around and asked if I could join, and he said yes.”

“Your parents?” Sirius asks, frowning.

“My mum’s a distant Selwyn and my dad’s a Meadowes,” I tell him. “They’re both into the blood purity business.”

“Meadowes isn’t a Sacred Twenty-Eight name,” Sirius says with a frown.

“My grandpa’s family came to England after the Sacred Twenty-Eight thing,” I say, looking down at my hands. My brown skin comes from my grandmother, and my brown eyes come from my mum. My ideals don’t come from my family at all.

“Ah,” Sirius says. “Are you planning to run away from home?”

“Not if I can help it,” I say, “but I don’t know how they’re going to react once I tell them I’ve joined the Order.”

“The Order’s the wrong side to them, isn’t it?” Sirius asks, the expression in his eyes too knowing, and I nod.


	4. Chapter 4

“You know,” James says, his hands held loosely behind his head as he turned to look up at the occupants of the couch, “I was wondering if you guys could help me and Lily with the Halloween decorations.”

“Oh, that would be nice,” Lily agrees as Remus nods. She slants us all a look from under her eyelashes and sighs upon seeing our probably very unwilling expressions. “Well, I suppose the prefects can do that,” she says. “I don’t know whether Dumbledore would be happy with any of the terrible plans someone like Sirius might come up with, anyway.”

“Oi!” Sirius springs up indignantly, pushing Remus off his shoulder. Sirius and Remus and Marlene all seem to feel most comfortable when they’re touching someone else in some way, even if it’s just feet-on-lap or shoulder-to-shoulder contact, so they’re often the ones lounging together on a sofa while the rest of us sit on the floor and lean against their dangling legs.

“What could we do, though?” Marlene asks, ignoring Sirius’ protests. “Everything orange and black, ask the house-elves to cook up something nice, you’re done.”

“I am a _joy_ , and my plans are _even better_ –”

“Shush, Sirius.”

“Not until you say that you didn’t mean it and apologise for hurting my feelings,” Sirius says quite seriously, reaching out to flick Lily’s red hair.

“Honestly, someone can be such a _child_ sometimes,” she says, reaching back and flicking Sirius’ arm. He promptly falls onto Remus and Marlene, groaning something unintelligible about how his heart is broken.

“We need to put up the decorations,” James says, “and I’m not looking forward to trying to charm a lot of pumpkins to fly around because even if we don’t have to do it by hand it’s going to take ages.”

“You should charm them to fly around and bite off people’s heads,” Sirius says.

“That is exactly what I meant by terrible ideas,” Lily says severely, and Sirius goes back to groaning.

“I broached the topic with the prefects,” James says, “and the reason I’m asking for your help is that all the Puffs and the Claws said that their team captains had them training for the big first match of the year in the weeks leading up to our Halloween feast. So that’s half our prefects useless.”

“How can they both be training at once? And how many of our prefects are Quidditch players?” Lily asks, not looking pleased.

“The captains are trying out a new theory. Test matches,” James explains. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, it gives the other team too much information about how you’re shaping up after the holidays and how the new players are slotting into the team. And all except four Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff prefects are also Quidditch players.”

“I didn’t know that,” Lily says thoughtfully, mulling this over. “And about the test matches, it’s their choice,” she tells him. “Wouldn’t you get as much information as you give away? So it’s still a rather fair trade.”

“The point is,” Remus says hastily before James can start, “we don’t have enough prefects with enough time to do the decoration work and we were wondering if you’d like to.” Lily and James give us what may as well be identical pleading looks.

“Would it have a negative effect on my remaining time in Hogwarts if I refused to help?” Marlene asks.

“Undoubtedly,” James says with a beam.

“Then I’d be delighted.”

“Izzy and I can help as well,” I say. “She’s one of your four who aren’t on the Quidditch Team.”

“Then you don’t need to volunteer her help,” Peter says, “She’d be helping anyway.”

“It sounds better if I volunteer my help and hers,” I tell him.

“Really I just don’t want James to try and start a prank war or something,” Marlene says. “I like enjoying my time in Hogwarts.”

“I wouldn’t have let him do it anyway,” Lily says. “Don’t worry, your remaining time at Hogwarts is perfectly safe.”

“I very much doubt that, if James and Sirius are set on it,” Remus says with a rather terrifyingly calm expression on his face. Lily scowls at him.

“There’s no need to make threats, they’ve both said they’ll help.”

“And Sirius and I are obviously givens,” Peter cuts in smoothly. James beams.

“Good!” he half-yells. Nobody in the Common Room blinks an eye at this behaviour.

“We should probably start with just trying to figure out decorations,” Lily says matter-of-factly, pulling out her wand and summoning her notebook from her dormitory and getting her quill from her bag. “Orange and black, right?”

“Everything orange and black,” Sirius says emphatically, sitting up and gesticulating wildly, barely missing Remus’ face. 

“Anything else to add?”

“Everything.”

“That’s helpful, thank you. Anyone, suggestions?”

“Pumpkins?” I ask.

“Candles.”

“Orange wall hangings.”

“Black wall hangings.”

“Orange food.”

“Black food.”

“Marlene,” I say.

“Black and orange Marlene,” Marlene says, looking ridiculously proud of herself. I snort.

“Be serious, Marlene,” Lily says, biting the end of her quill.

“ _I’m_ Sirius,” Sirius protests. “Nobody else can be me. I’m too fabulous.”

“I liked Sirius’ idea of a head-biting pumpkin,” Marlene says thoughtfully. “What if we changed the colours of the suits of armour? How many suits of armour do we have in the school?”

“Too many,” Lily says quickly.

“What about bringing in a tiger?” Sirius asks idly. If I look up from where I’m sitting, with my head on Marlene’s knees and one of her legs braced against my side, keeping me almost unnecessarily warm, I can see Sirius trying to trace patterns on Remus, with Remus continually jerking his arms away from Sirius. Even though I can’t properly see his face, I know that Sirius keeps pouting at this.

“Cruelty to animals,” Marlene complains. “You can’t do that. Tigers belong in the jungle.”

“Does anyone have any sensible suggestions?” Lily asks. She sounds exasperated enough that Marlene and Sirius both quieten down, although Sirius doesn’t cease in his pattern-tracing and Remus is starting look a little flustered.

“Nice food,” Marlene says eventually, looking into the fire. “You have nice food, nobody’s going to bother about what the decorations look like.”

“That’s true,” Peter says, nodding. “I can barely remember last years’ Halloween decorations because I wasn’t paying that much attention.”

“You weren’t paying attention because the decorations were good,” I say. “If the decorations were anything less than wonderful, you probably would have noticed.” There’s a short silence after this.

“I think she’s right,” Lily says eventually, looking down at her notebook with three bullet points in it.

“Thanks for absolutely not piling the pressure on here or anything, Dorcas,” James says grumpily.

“So we need fabulous decorations,” Sirius frowns, and tugs on a lock of his own hair.

“Almost as fabulous as you,” Marlene deadpans, and he beams at her.

“Oh _Marlene_ , so kind of you to say so!” I can feel her knees shaking against my head, and smile at her laughter. 

“Does anyone remember the old decorations?” Lily asks frustratedly, looking ready to pull out her hair. James reaches over and tentatively pats her arm in what appears to be an attempt to calm her down.

“Banners, candles, I believe that there were actually a few pumpkins in there,” Marlene says. I can hear the frown in her voice as she tries to remember.

“Wall hangings,” Remus chips in. “I can remember some sort of black cat silhouette pattern on an orange background.”

“Okay,” Lily says, scribbling it all down furiously. “What about banners?”

“There was something similar to that, I think,” Peter says. “Triangles of orange and black fabric strung on string, and it was hung over the doorways and such.”

“Okay,” Lily says.

“Don’t get too stressed about this, Lilykins,” Sirius says, reaching out to tug on her hair. Remus takes the opportunity to rub his own arm. She takes a deep breath and smiles, mostly to herself but then directing it towards us.

“When it comes down to it, I’m sure the Professors will help,” Peter agrees. James nods as he gets up and slaps at Sirius’ outstretched legs.

“Move,” he says, “I want to sit down on a cushion.”

“Really,” Sirius says, “and can’t you ever ask for something politely?”

“Can I sit down?” James asks in a bored tone. Sirius makes a huge show of slowly moving away before launching himself off the sofa at James.

“So predictable,” Remus murmurs as he watches his two friends start wrestling.

“I’m still having trouble with this list,” Lily says rather vaguely. She looks like she’s paying no attention to the boys next to her, but there’s a small upwards hook to her mouth that says otherwise. “Any other suggestions?”

“Get people to come in orange and black!” James yells from where his head is being squashed under the sofa by Sirius.

“There’s no need to yell,” Lily informs him mildly. “I am right here, you know. And I think we have to wear school uniform for this? Which is already black.”

“I’m yelling because I’m in pain!” James shouts, somehow managing to roll Sirius into the ground so that he’s got the advantage. In a second, he tries to launch himself onto the sofa, but Sirius grabs his ankle and he goes crashing to the ground.

“What about orange and black plates?” Sirius pants, trying his best to get James away from the sofa.

“Orange and black cutlery?” Lily muses, and I have to laugh at the sight of her completely ignoring the still-scuffling James and Sirius. In their absence, Remus, Peter and Marlene have all stretched out on the sofa comfortably, just to annoy the two boys on the floor. I catch Marlene’s eye and she grins, putting a finger to her lips before pointing at the boys, clearly saying that she wants to see how long it’ll take them to realise that the couch they’re fighting over is now completely covered in lazy bodies.

As it turns out, it doesn’t take long – while Lily is wondering whether she could ask the house elves to change the colours of the plates and cutlery or whether they wouldn’t be able to do that, and if so whether she could pull off a mass Colour-Changing charm, the two boys sit up and stare at the three fellow students stretched out lazily on the red sofa, deliberately taking up every single bit of space that there is to be taken.

“Why _Padfoot_ ,” James starts in a deeply wounded tone. “I do believe these ragamuffins have taken our sofa.”

“Ragamuffins?” Marlene asks in an outraged tone.

“ _Your_ sofa?” Remus asks.

“Our sofa,” Sirius confirms, and launches himself at them. Lily puts her notebook away quickly before any wayward limbs might cause her to scribble on the page, and she and I both move over to the sofa opposite to watch the fight.

“Does this happen often?” I ask her as we watch the kerfuffle. “Only, nobody seems to be very concerned about this pretty loud fight.” Lily laughs – she’s one of those genuinely nice people you hardly ever meet, Lily, you can’t really hate her once you know her.

“Well, no,” she admits, “but for those four this is just par for the course.” Marlene, Peter and Remus are fighting hard to keep their sofa-territory, and James and Sirius are providing a brutal frontal assault. They’re all fighting each other the muggle way; apparently nobody’s smart enough to remember that they have wands on their person, or they believe that fighting with their hands and feet and elbows makes for a better time. Lily leans closer to me. “Bets on how long it’ll take before someone gets out a wand,” she whispers, her eyes sparkling.

“I bet that Marlene’s team are going to win,” I say in return. She grins and shakes on it, and I feel a brief moment of relief that she didn’t try to extract a proper amount of money from me, because I don’t get pocket money and I’m broke.

Somehow Sirius has managed to climb onto the sofa, but James’ master plan of stealing the sofa cushion backfires when he accidentally pulls out the cushion from underneath Sirius and Sirius goes tumbling to the ground in a heap.

While all of them have yet to use their wands, Marlene’s come up with the genius idea of hitting James and Sirius with the sofa cushions, and what started out as a fight for the sofa now escalates into a pillowfight.

“Marlene!” Sirius complains as she hits him mercilessly, laughing all the while. When Remus joins her – because Peter’s taking care of James and he has nothing to do – Sirius looks doubly outraged. “Remus!” The look on his face is comparable to one that you might find on a cat being soaked in a rainstorm; outraged and distraught, with eyes too big to believe.

“What is it?” Marlene asks, pausing in her pillow-smacking. Sirius attempts to take advantage of this by lunging at her, but she retreats and lets Remus restart the pillow-smacking.

Marlene, holding her pillow out before her, barrels into Remus and Sirius so that all three of them tumble down to the ground. “Surrender!”

“Never!” Sirius yells back, and then they’re at it again.

* * *

“I can’t believe they beat us, James,” Sirius sulks from the fireplace. His distraught, wet cat look is back on his face.

“It was three versus two, Sirius. It was an unfair match,” James reassures his friend.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Remus says smugly from the couch, where he and Peter and Marlene are settled once more. Lily’s given me a secret handshake and a laugh as my spoils of war for winning the bet.

“You didn’t have to surrender,” Sirius says. “Just because your cushion broke.”

“I didn’t have any other weapon.”

“You had me.”

“You were being beaten up by Marlene and Moony at the time, I’m afraid. Besides,” James says, ignoring his friend’s outraged look at the mention of his defeat, “I needed someone’s help to mend the cushion, and I knew that they wouldn’t do it unless we stopped.”

“Excuses excuses.”

“Well, you didn’t have to surrender as well!” James points out indignantly. “You could have kept on fighting your useless fight.”

“My fighting is supreme,” Sirius says coldly. “We were fighting for a worthy cause!”

“What were we fighting for again?” James asks. “I just wanted to sit down on the sofa.” He punctuates this statement with a glare towards the current occupants of the sofa. Peter points him to the armchair opposite, which is currently empty mostly because the students in it decided quite wisely that they didn’t want any part in this war once it had started.

“I was fighting you for – sitting down,” Sirius frowns. “And then they took the sofa.” He directs a similar glare to the three occupants of the sofa, who all point his to the armchair in unison this time. He sniffs at this gesture, affronted.

“You’re my only friend, Prongs,” he says, leaning his head on James’ shoulder. “You’re always there for me.”

“He was the one you were fighting in the first place, silly,” Marlene points out fondly from the sofa. Sirius shrieks and covers his ears.

“James, don’t listen to her!” he begs. “She’s trying to turn you against me!”

“She’s just jealous of our friendship.” James agrees, hugging his friend close.

“Have it your way,” Marlene says from the sofa with a sniff, stretching out her legs.

“So about this,” Lily says with a frown, “do you think that I should ask for the food to be orange and black, or is that too much?”

“That’s going a bit far,” Marlene and Sirius say almost in unison.

“I don’t even like orange that much, I don’t want to eat it,” Peter says, and Remus nods along in agreement.

“And eating something black would be just gloomy,” he adds. “Plus we already have pumpkin juice. That’s already orange.”

“If you want gloomy,” Peter says, “Go to Nearly Headless Nick’s Deathday party. He holds it at the same time we have our Halloween feast.”

“Have you been?” Lily asks. Peter shakes his head.

“Nah, but Nick tried to give all of us Gryffindors blanket invitation during our OWL year.”

“I remember that,” Sirius says fondly. “Nobody went.”

“He sulked for days,” James agreed.

“Oh, is that why he was sulking during November?” Lily asks. “He wouldn’t answer my questions on the Goblin Rebellion he died for.”

“I don’t think he likes talking about it much in general, though,” Sirius says thoughtfully. “Most ghosts don’t enjoy talking about their deaths.”

“Except Moaning Myrtle,” Lily says. “It’s the proudest moment of her life.”

“Don’t bash Myrtle,” Marlene cuts in, her voice sleepy.

“Why not?”

“She’s a – she’s – a Ravenclaw,” Marlene managed to get out around a huge, jaw-cracking yawn. “We protect our own,” she says.

“Bed for you, I think,” I say, and Marlene gets up and stretches.

“You’re probably right,” she says, bending backwards so that the joints in her back pop, and causing me to wince at the noise. “Boys, the couch is yours,” she says with an overly elegant curtsey to James and Sirius, who immediately both give her the stink-eye. “Dorcas, are you coming? A walk through the castle is more pleasant with company,” she says, and I get up it’s time for me to head back to my dormitory anyway. There’s something about all the red in here which still makes my eyes feel tired, maybe just because I’m used to the gentler yellows of the Hufflepuff Common Room.

“Let’s go,” I tell her. “’Bye, guys.” They all wave us goodbye with various degrees of enthusiasm, and we exit the common room together.

“Did you ever celebrate Halloween at home?” Marlene asks as we walk through the corridors, for now moving in the same direction.

“No,” I tell her. “My dad comes from the Pacific Islands and they’re both purebloods, so I’m not even sure whether they know about Halloween.”

Apparently Marlene has no idea what to say to this revelation, so we walk in silence a bit longer before she finally breaks it. “So have you ever been to the Pacific Islands? Which specific Pacific island are you from?” I shrug.

“We’re from the Solomon Islands originally, but I’ve never been there. My grandparents moved to England, and the family’s lived here ever since.”

“Wow,” Marlene says. “I have no idea about anything regarding the Solomon Islands.” I laugh.

“My dad likes to say how his father moved to England with his cousin, who started the Shacklebolt family, but I doubt that. Nobody from that family’s ever acknowledged us as far as I know, my dad just likes to think that he might be related to one of the most promising Aurors in the Department.”

“Hm,” Marlene says, and we walk in silence a bit longer until I feel as though I’m being uncharitable and ask her a question in return.

“What’s your family like?”

“You might know my brother Will, he’s a Puff like you but two years below,” Marlene says, and looks at me, clearly expecting some sort of reply.

“I probably could recognise his face if you showed me a picture,” I say, “but I don’t remember his face just from the name.”

“He hates being called Will,” Marlene says with a small grin on her face. “We all call him that anyway, but he’s always complaining about how he has a family so lazy that they shorten a three-syllable name to only one syllable.”

“Huh.”

“Matches the Hufflepuff work ethic, don’t you think?” she says with a small laugh. “My dad’s Scottish and my mum’s half French or something, but she may as well be all French because she speaks French all the time.”

“Half French?” Appearing to anticipate my next question, Marlene hastens to speak before I can.

“Yes, and I do speak French at home half the time.”

“French?” I ask, and then I become rather irrationally annoyed at this girl’s seemingly limitless talents. “Fluently?” Marlene nods.

“I was actually going to ask about the accent, if you’re half Scottish. Do you live in England, or Scotland?”

“No, I live in Scotland, the accent’s just been ironed out by all the time here with you English-accented people,” Marlene laughs. “I can still fake a Scottish accent, but this is how I would sleeptalk, I think.”

“Sleeptalk!” I laugh. “You’re practically perfect, you know?” I say, and then wonder why. 

Marlene looks at me, shocked, and then when she determines that I’m not joking, she tentatively asks, “What do you mean?”

“You play the piano and the flute, and you speak French, and you’re smart,” I say, feeling tired – maybe it’s just the fact that it’s getting late, but I think it has more to do with the conversation I’m having than the hour. _Your hair is beautiful, and you have the most wonderful accent_ , I want to say, but I shake it off and continue with, “Top-of-the-class smart, and you do your essays in an hour and still get top marks, and you’re going to join the Order straight out of school – apart from the last one, my parents would want you as their daughter.”

“I don’t play piano and the flute well,” Marlene says. “And I speak French because my French mother and her French relatives are always around and you have to pick it up when you’re surrounded by it like that. I’m not that smart, honestly, not compared to some of my housemates. There’s a fourteen year old girl who’s Grade 8 in piano, you know? Grade 8 is the highest you can be, it’s the muggle way of measuring your skill.”

“Well,” I say, “you’re a sight better than I am.”

“I’m lazy? And not actually that smart, don’t think that. I probably could be pretty good at everything I just mentioned, I’m just not bothered,” Marlene says, and if I wasn’t feeling like I wanted to kick a wall then I might have laughed at how she’s trying to convince me that she’s not perfect, when most people would be content to be placed on a pedestal. “And you must have noticed that I’m bad at putting in the effort when it comes to friends,” she says. “I have my brother, but he doesn’t count, brother-sister love is like – built into my family. Not to change the subject,” she continues, “but if your parents are so against you joining the Order, why are you doing it?”

“Because they keep trying to passive-aggressively get me to join You-Know-Who,” I say, “and I don’t want to.”

“And you think that joining the Order will _solve_ that problem?” Marlene asks doubtfully. “I mean, I suppose it would get the message across –”

“I’m joining the Order because what Voldemort’s doing is _wrong_ ,” I say, managing not to snap, “and nobody’s doing anything about it, and even if it might be hard to believe I’m joining because I have a sense of right and wrong and I couldn’t live with myself if I locked myself away and tried to ignore what’s happening under my nose. I’d hate myself.” My statement is met with silence, and then the same reaction Izzy had.

“ _Just_ because it’s wrong,” Marlene demands, and I nod. “Then what’re you talking about, saying that I’m better than you? You’re better than I am, stronger, I’m only joining because my father’s muggleborn and I’d do anything to protect my family. How can you know everything that you’re risking and still want to join?”

“Because of the guilt I _know_ is going to follow me around if I don’t do anything,” I say tiredly. “I know exactly what I’m giving up, but I think it’s worth it. You heard what Sirius asked me yesterday about running away. I don’t _want_ to, but it’s not like they’re going to be pleased.”

“You’re always welcome to come to my place, if you need to,” Marlene offers quietly. “My parents wouldn’t mind. And I’m sure that the rest of us would say the same.” Us. The rest of us – I think Marlene’s right, and the thought makes me a little warmer.

“Thanks,” I whisper, and I’m just tired, and I want to speak about something happy. “What makes you happy?” She takes this abrupt change of topic in stride, just like everything else.

“Reading,” she says, “and music, and my brother’s whingeing and my mother’s smile and my father’s laugh.” I nod, and she asks me the same question.

“I don’t know anymore,” I say hopelessly. “Izzy, and your laugh, and watching you and Remus and Sirius and Peter and James make fools of yourselves.” Marlene’s small hand finds its way into mine and squeezes tightly and when I look down I notice that our steps are in sync.

“Don’t lose sight of those things, then,” she whispers, and I nod and tighten my fingers around her hand. She has to tug away when we reach the pile of barrels that hides the entrance to my common room.

“Oh, sorry,” I say, rubbing my eyes and trying to remember the correct rhythm to tap onto the barrels because I wasn’t in the mood to be soaked in vinegar, “I dragged you all the way down here –”

“Don’t worry about it,” Marlene cuts in, “I enjoyed the walk, and the talk.”

“Good night,” I say, because it’s the best thing that my sad, tired mind can come up with. “Thank you for walking with me.”

“Good night,” Marlene says back – she reaches out to squeeze my hand out one more time before leaving down the corridor, and I watch as she walks away.


End file.
